


Truth and Lies

by Annie46fic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 05:03:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/439440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annie46fic/pseuds/Annie46fic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Why did Dean's eyes bleed in Bloody Mary? What does the Shape shifter learn from 'downloading' Dean's thoughts and memories? </p>
<p>It appears that both Dean and Sam are hiding secrets from each other. Do they harbor something other than just a brotherly relationship? With both of them angry and in denial will they ever manage to talk it out and be everything to each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth and Lies

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the pre-post SPNBB challenge.
> 
> Thank you to evian_fork for the artwork for this story. It is really cool and reminds us of those lovely young Winchesters! The art work can be seen [Here](http://evian-fork.livejournal.com/97130.html).   
>  Thank you to the mods at pre_post_spnbb for running this challenge - loved it!

The last time Dean saw Sam he was eighteen and gawky, his limbs wobbly from a sudden growth spurt, and his hands and feet too large for the rest of him. His hair had been longish, curtain like bangs hanging in his slanting cat-like eyes, spots on his chin and nose and a permanently sullen expression on his face. When he stuck out his jaw, he reminded Dean so much of dad - no wonder the two of them didn’t get along.

 

Sam was mute when Dean took him to the bus station, dad’s angry voice and final words still ringing in his ears. He knew dad had been fuming, heard the bitterness in his voice. He didn’t know whether to love or hate Sam for what he had done. Proud that he had applied and gotten into one of the best universities; devastated that he had done it without even discussing it with his family, and hurt that he hadn’t even thought to mention it to him. Before this, before dad exploded, it had always been Dean and Sam against the world.

Dean had slipped two hundred dollars into Sam’s hand before he had gotten out of the Impala. Bright slanting eyes had met his before Sam had pulled him into a hug, quick and hard and then he was gone, the scent of his body imprinted into the Impala, the feel of him imprinted into Dean. He watched as the bus pulled away, taking his brother out of his life and, for the first time in a long time, Dean wanted to cry.

He didn’t though; he threw himself into hunting, joined his dad on his crusade and never let himself think too much or too hard.

He missed Sam.

He missed the steady rhythm of Sam’s breathing in the bed next to his. He missed the press of Sam’s shoulder against his as he went into ‘battle’. He even missed Sam’s sullen expression, and his constant bitching.

He missed Sam.

The worse time was early in the morning, deep and dark beneath the sheets, his hand around his cock. His mind was telling him he was thinking about the well-stacked waitress that he had seen at their latest diner stop but his stupid heart knew better and, in reality, he was thinking about long gawky limbs, stupid curtain hair and cat-like eyes that stared into his with trust, love and longing.

 

****

 

The next time Dean saw Sam was from the driver’s seat of the Impala; Dean was parked in a side street far enough away to watch his brother but not let his brother spot him. It had been nearly four years and Dean could barely recognize his little brother in the man that he saw walking confidently down the sidewalk with a couple of other students.

Sam was no longer gawky or awkward; he appeared to have grown into himself, broad shouldered and slim-hipped. Sam was still slender but he had put on some muscle mass and he filled out his clothing, filled out the fashionable Henley and baggy, patched jeans.

His hair was longer now, curling around his neck but it still hung in his face in long, messy bangs. He still had those cat eyes but now they slanted exotically above high boned cheeks, his mouth wide and smiling, dimples - something that Dean hadn’t seen in a long, long time.

He missed Sam.

The most difficult thing he had done in a long time was break into his brother’s small apartment building. It had been easy at first but then he had heard footsteps on the stairs and smelt his brother’s familiar scent and he’d tensed, four years of fear and wondering pressed into that one moment.

“I was hoping for a beer!”

Flippant and trying for casual, his brother towering over him, pulling him to his feet with surprising strength. Dean hid the fact that the very feel of Sam, the very smell of him, had left him half-hard and put the idea that he had ever wanted his little brother out of his head.

Jess wasn’t what he was expecting at all, tall and willowy, a natural blonde and hot in her Smurf’s t-shirt. Sam stood defensively next to her, his eyes on Dean’s face, insistent that whatever he said, he could say to both of them. It did something to Dean to see his little brother like this, all protective and looming. Dean had always been the protective one, always looked after Sammy. It appeared now that Sammy could look after himself, and his girlfriend too, by the looks of it.

His explanation about dad didn’t appear to go down too well; he watched Sam’s face, tried to read his expression. He felt so out of place here in this domestic bliss of Sam’s. There were pictures on the wall; there were scatter cushions, a rug and a mug tree, for fuck’s sake. Sam’s mouth went tight, his eyes blank and he gave Jess a quick hug. Dean heard him mumble something about going outside and then, all of a sudden, they were going down the back steps to the Impala and Sam actually listening to him.

He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want to do it alone; he couldn’t and wouldn’t. He was used to doing jobs without dad now but his brother didn’t need to know that. Dean didn’t want to be alone anymore. He didn’t want to be lonely. Family had always been important to him and dad and Sam was family. He stared at the stranger who used to be his younger brother and sighed, preparing to beg.

In the end, he didn’t have to. He left Sam to pack and say goodbye to his girl and, an hour later, Sam was in the car with him riding shotgun, sitting with his face pressed up against the window. It was almost as if time hadn’t passed at all apart from the fact that Sam was bigger, broader, and had even more hair. Dean drove whilst taking furtive glances at his brother, looking at those eyes above slanting cheeks, staring at his wide mouth, and the soft curl of chestnut hair around his collar.

Denial was one of Dean’s best skills and he had told himself repeatedly that he didn’t want his brother, didn’t want him in a way that was bad and wrong. Trouble was he knew that he was just lying to himself and he hoped to God that Sammy would never find out or this uneasy truce they had going would descend, again, into war and Dean didn’t want that. He never wanted that.

The hunt was simple really and they made a great team. He dropped Sam off around midnight but it hurt. He tried for sassy and sharp and Sam laughed, patted the top of the car in some affection, eyes bright again, and dimples in the smile that he gave Dean. Dean watched him go, watched him climb the steps and walk into his apartment, back to his normal life and away from Dean. Despite promises to the contrary he thought that, maybe, it might be the last he saw of Sammy for another four years and that thought - that hurt more than anything.

He never knew why he went back; never could really comprehend why he had turned his baby around and headed back towards Stanford. He wondered, in the long, arduous and awful weeks that followed, if he had some sort of unconscious psychic episode. Whatever it was, it had saved Sam’s life but Dean had to question, repeatedly, if Sam had wanted to be saved.

 

***

 

Black water Ridge and they just about managed to get out alive, beaten up a little and way too emotional but alive.

Sam was near to breakdown and Dean could see it, feel it with every word that came out of his mouth. Sam was pale, shadows underneath his eyes, hair greasy and unwashed. He wasn’t sleeping or eating and nothing Dean could do or say seemed to convince him otherwise. He needed Sam sharp, needed Sam to have his back but he felt guilty somehow, guilty that Sam was back with him, guilty that Jess was dead.

But he needed Sam.

The worse guilt was that he needed Sam in ways that he could never have him. In sick twisted ways, that would only serve to add to his brother’s grief and confusion. He’d missed Sammy in so many different ways but the physical need could be ignored - it had to be ignored or else he would ruin everything and drive his brother away for good.

 

***

 

Their next case was in Wisconsin and Dean found himself strangely drawn to Andrea Barr and her silent son. Dean had always loved kids really being more of a father to Sam than his own dad ever had (even though it hurt to admit it).

Dean knew Andrea was grateful, both for saving her and her son and for getting Lucas to open up in the way that he had. She had been delighted to hear him speak again and she had made no secret of that fact. Her offer of a drink led to a lot more and he let himself be drawn in. He let himself be pulled into her arms, kissed and caressed, his hands on her breasts, furrowing beneath her blouse to pinch at her nipples, tongue in her mouth searching for something good, the taste of her, the feel of her wiping his mind clean of another.

When she waved them off the next day, he wondered if Sam could tell what had happened between them, if Sam could see the marks on Andrea’s neck, if he had any idea that his big brother had gotten lucky. He was a pervert he knew that, a pervert for wanting his own little brother but Sam had always been his first love and they say you never forget your first love.

Dean would just have to try.

 

***

He remembers how much he hated flying the minute they get on the plane; Sam smiles at him and teases, gently, but he is quietly protective, arm slung over the back of Dean’s seat, fingers resting lightly on the meat of Dean’s bicep. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does and Dean can’t help but wish – not for the first time – that he left Sam at Stanford; left him to his domestic life with Jess. He knows Sam is still grieving and that he isn’t sleeping. He knows that if Sam, finally, sleeps he is suffering from nightmares. He doesn’t know what Sam sees but he wakes up screaming and, as much as Dean tries to handle it, he can’t.

The demon is dispatched high in the air and Dean is convinced he is going to die. That night he goes out and picks up a random chick in a bar. She takes him home and lets him fuck her violently and with no tenderness whatsoever. He feels like a real heel, a rapist but her writhing body takes all thoughts of Sam out of his head. He feels normal again, natural and the sick feeling in his stomach dissipates a little.

“You haven’t changed.” Sam is slumped over the laptop, coffee cold at his elbow. “Still the fuck and run type.”

“So?” He is still a little drunk and more than a little belligerent. “Just cos you are a monk doesn’t mean I have to be.”

The minute the words leave his mouth, he wants to pull them back. He feels guilt heavier than ever and he doesn’t even want to look up at Sam’s face, knowing already what he might see there.

“I’m not a monk,” Sam’s voice is halting, so sad that Dean fears he might see his brother in tears and he can’t cope with that. “I – Jess and me – we. . . .” There is a click and a gulp and Dean flops down onto the bed with his face in the pillow, childishly thinking if he can’t see it then it isn’t there.

Sam slams the laptop lid down so hard Dean thinks it might be broken. The light goes off too and he hears the slither of Sam’s belt, the snick, snick, snick of his zipper. There is a rustling and he knows that Sam is stripping down, pulling on his baggy sleep pants and old ratty tee. Dean wants to turn on the light and see how much his brother has changed, wants to see how his skinny pale frame has developed into the tanned muscle Dean knows lies beneath his clothing. He shudders as he hears Sam sigh and the mattress of his bed dips as he climbs beneath the sheets.

“I loved her Dean,” Sam’s voice low, muffled by his pillow. “It isn’t so easy to forget.”

“I’m sorry, Sammy.” He swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I should never have said. . . .”

“S’lright,” Sam’s voice was fuzzy, sleep slurring his tone. “I could never have made it this far, if not for you.”

It wasn’t exactly a declaration of love but it felt good, soft warmth in his gut, gentle words of reassurance that made him feel a little better about himself. He could hear Sam breathing in and out and his stomach clenched, his cock growing harder in his shorts.

He hated this; what sort of sick fucker has a hard-on for his baby brother?

“Dean,” Sam’s voice again, distant in the darkness. “It really is ok.”

Dean sighed and bit down on his fist, angry and frustrated with himself, hurt and lost, wanting only to make everything right.

It wasn’t ok, not at all.

 

***

 

Sam was obsessively checking his cell and Dean couldn’t imagine who might be calling him or sending him texts.

It was a beautiful day and they don’t particularly have a case; no mysterious co-ordinates from John, Sam still pissed at the message they listened to after the airplane demon case. Dean felt generous, ordered black coffee and something frothy while watching his brother bent over the screen, seeing his shoulders almost tearing the fabric of his jacket, thinking that maybe they will have to do a clothes stop, buy Sammy some new threads. His brother was a boy when he left home and now, now he is a man but it hasn’t stopped Dean being a big brother, hasn’t stopped Dean wanting Sam, or needing him in so many ways, it was almost heart breaking.

“What?” Sam’s almond eyes flicked up, stormy grey today, no humor in his gaze. “Why are you staring?”

“No reason,” Dean sighed and kicked the table sullenly. He wanted to find dad as much as Sam did but there was no reason to be an ass about it. He heard his own cell chirp and he pulled it out of his pocket, eyes narrowing as he saw the familiar numbers and letters - co-ordinates, a job perhaps. “We have some co-ordinates.” He pushed the coffee over to Sam. “Drink up and we’ll check where he wants us to go.”

Sam’s gaze was hooded, unreadable. Years ago Dean knew everything about Sam, could recognize his expressions but now, now his brother was a closed book and he was finding it harder and harder to cope.

Dean sat in the car and reached into the glove compartment. He pulled out the old, faded map and ran his finger along the letters.

“Toledo, Ohio,” he said. “Want to look it up on the laptop – see what might be going down?”

Sam nodded and bent his head down over his machine, in the same way he had hunched over his phone earlier. Dean felt a stab of guilt as he peered at his brother’s face, pale and thin, with shadows deep beneath his eyes. Sam wasn’t sleeping and when he did finally manage to close his eyes, he was plagued with nightmares that woke him up screaming.

“A father found dead in his bathroom.” Sam tapped the screen. “Bleeding from the brain so severe his eyes . . . ,” he trailed off and rubbed his face. “His eyes were gone.”

“Could be our sort of thing,” Dean said, leaning over Sam’s shoulder to look at the obit. “Do you wanna’ drive down there and look it over?”

“Do we have a choice?” Sam’s eyes were heavy through lack of sleep and, despite the fact, he was only twenty-two, he looked one hundred years old.

“You know we do, Sam.” Dean felt his heart sink, hoping that Sam wasn’t going to question everything. “We don’t have to go.”

“Do you think dad will be there?” A smidgen of hope had appeared in those slanting eyes and Dean had to swallow hard to stop the burning in his eyes.

“I don’t know.” It was the truth. He was worried about dad but he was worried about Sam more. He knew his brother needed rest, needed time to grieve but he didn’t know how to go about it, or what to suggest. Sam was an enigma to him now and he wished it were still as simple as it used to be.

“Ok,” there was a sigh in Sam’s reply. “Sure.”

“Will you sleep on the way?” Dean tried a smile and Sam returned it with a feeble grin.

“Yes mom,” he said, softly and Dean’s smile became wider, more genuine.

“Come on Sparky,” he said. “Let’s get on the road.”

 

***

Sam woke up crying out Jess’s name.

Dean stopped the car and pulled into a parking spot, his hand automatically resting on Sam’s thigh. Sam turned his head and stared at him for a long moment. His eyes were half-mast and confused and he was sweating despite the fact that the day was cool.

“Sometime, we are gonna’ have to talk about this,” Dean said, trying for older brother stern but it wasn’t working. There was a thread of panic working its way through his body, a shudder that refused to stop. His mouth was dry and he just wanted – hell he wanted to take Sam into his arms and hold him – damn chick flick moments.

“M’ok.” Sam’s grin was false and forced. He rubbed his eyes. “Are we here, yet?”

Dean nodded; the morgue was big and foreboding somehow and he felt uneasy wanting only to protect Sam, to snuggle him like a child.

They both got out of the car and climbed up the steps; as usual, the case was their sort of thing but there was no dad and Dean could see that Sam was pissed. They arranged to visit the bereaved the next day and Dean found them, what he hoped, was a better class of motel to stay in, somewhere where they might rest awhile, where Sam might sleep.

He watched his brother get undressed; saw how thin Sam was looking even beneath the hard muscle that he had put on. His hipbones protruded over his baggy jeans and Dean could see the line of dark hair that ran from his flat belly to beneath his belt. He felt sick down to his stomach as he realized that, even in his concern, the sight of Sam’s body was making him half-hard and he itched to touch his brother, his fingers twitching. He shuffled so that the magazine he was reading rested over his groin and he looked up at Sam, heart sinking at the pale face and dark shadows.

 

“Sammy,” the word left his lips before he could haul it back and Sam looked across at him, expression going from puzzled to confused, to something that Dean couldn’t actually read or recognize.

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was rough, ragged and he moved slowly so that he could sit down on the edge of Dean’s bed. Dean felt the dip as Sam lowered himself, heard the soft exhale of Sam’s breath. “Look man.” He turned his face so that his high cheekbones and sharp nose were in shadow. “I know you are worried about me and I appreciate it but I’m ok. Really, you need to relax.”

“Sammy.” Dean shuffled beneath his magazine and hoped that Sam didn’t realize what was happening to him right now. “I – we – you just worry me man. I need you sharp, I need you to have my back and that isn’t gonna’ happen if you – well . . . if you don’t get enough sleep.”

“I’m trying.” Sam sounded resigned. “But every time I close my eyes I see . . . ,” he trailed off and Dean knew he wasn’t going to say anything more, that he wasn’t going to find out what was going on in his little brother’s freaky head.

“Come on.” He shuffled over and patted the bed next to him. “Let’s watch some lame TV stuff and maybe you’ll be able to loosen up.”

Sam huffed something between a snort and a laugh. He moved off Dean’s bed for a moment and puttered about, finding his duffle and getting out his sleep stuff. A moment later, he was back, settling down next to Dean, shoulder warm against Dean’s own, the slight brush of hair against Dean’s bare neck.

Dean concentrated on the TV; turned it on using the remote, found them a ‘Star Wars’ marathon and turned out his own bedside lamp. It was dark and warm inside the room and he could smell the scent of Sam’s shampoo, feel the up and down movement of his breathing. On screen, Princess Leia was shooting at something and Luke was shouting. Sam laughed under his breath and Dean felt him relaxing, his head almost lolling onto Dean’s shoulder, a huge yawn vibrating through the two of them.

By the time they got to the end of ‘The Empire Strikes Back’, Sam was snoring softly and Dean couldn’t help but smile as he slipped out of his own bed and tucked Sam into it. He couldn’t bring himself to take the bed furthest from the door, so he just settled down over the coverlet, next to but not touching his brother, falling into sleep easily, his dreams full of the Winchester family, together and hunting as it was always meant to be.

 

***

 

Dean knew that Sam was finding this case harder than most.

Charlie was riddled with guilt and Sam seemed to think it was his duty to comfort her, and to make sure she was safe. Dean never knew how to feel when he saw his little brother being so protective of others. It had always been Dean’s job to protect, to be the older, more responsible one. Sam had tasted independence and normal and it had changed him. He was still Dean’s little brother in name but he no longer played his role, he didn’t need protecting or, at least, he didn’t think he did. Last night things had been different but in the cold light of day Sam was stoic, being strong again and Dean felt as if he had been given mixed  
messages and he didn’t like it.

****

“What are you dreaming about?” He crossed his legs, went for casual, as he watched his brother wake up flailing for – what seemed like – the thousandth time since Jess’s death.

“Lollipops and Candy Canes,” Sam’s voice was laced with exhaustion and sarcasm. “You are gonna’ have to stop this creepy habit of watching me sleep.”

“I’m just looking out for you.” He didn’t like the pallor of Sam’s skin, he looked washed out, waxy.

“Yeah.” That got a tremulous smile and another of those odd looks that he just couldn’t read anymore. “Thanks.”

“Sammy . . . ,” he started but his brother shook his head and raised a hand.

“Tell me about the case?” he asked and, with that, the conversation was over.

 

***

 

It was a really, bad idea but Sam was insistent. It was a given that he blamed himself for Jess’s death but Dean couldn’t get anything else out of him. Sam wasn’t talking and, as he said so succinctly, if he told Dean then it wouldn’t be a secret and Bloody Mary wouldn’t come for him.

They broke into the store without any problems and Sam started the incantation. Dean watched him, heart in mouth, his stomach clenching with nervous excitement. This was his little brother, this was the young boy who clung to him at every opportunity and now, now, here was a man - a man who was brave, determined and true and Dean, Dean was more in love with him than ever.

The police lights made him move; he trusted Sam to do the job and went to distract them. When he returned, knuckles burning and stomach churning, Sam was on his knees, blood pouring down his face, eyes deep and red. Dean dropped down and pulled Sam to his feet but even as he did so he felt his own eyes tingle, saw his own reflection in the mirror, laughing at him, voice low and rumbling.

“You’re in love with your own brother,” the image in the mirror intoned. “You sick fuck! You know it would kill him to find out.”

Dean wanted to be sick; he took the iron rod from Sam’s hand and lifted it, slamming it into the mirror. Sam was clinging to him and he heard his brother’s slight moan, heard his name slip from Sam’s mouth, blood mingling with sweat on his face. He bit his lip, pulling Sam away from the mirror, pulling him away from the thing that was crawling towards them. His head was throbbing, eyes burning, ears ringing with the constant drone of the woman’s voice.

You should tell him – but you won’t because you can’t. You want to have sex with your own brother. Your own brother..

He fell back and grabbed at something, another mirror. It was a long shot and he hurt all over, aching, and bleeding. He cried out and Sam clung to him, his own-blooded face buried in Dean’s neck. This was what he wanted, he thought, distantly, he wanted to be Sam’s protector again; he wanted to be Sam’s everything.

The mirror exploded and Mary along with it, glass breaking and shattering in all directions. Dean flattened himself on the floor, half covering Sam with his body, feeling the sharp prick of glass in the meat of his own back.

Afterwards, when they had cleaned up, showered, settled into their own beds he expected Sam to ask, - ask him why his eyes had bled but Sam seemed stunned, out of it and, for once, Dean took the silence and let his brother be.

 

***

 

Sam was checking his phone again; Dean watched him eyes narrowed still wondering who the fuck Sam could be talking to.

“My friends . . . .” Sam still looked tired. The incident with Bloody Mary hadn’t helped him sleep any easier and there were still dark shadows beneath his eyes, a deep grove between his eyebrows. “From Stanford.”

Dean felt a pang of unreasonable jealousy; he made some quip about not having friends and got a bitch-face back at him. Sam looked weary, his ‘normal’ life taken from him with every mile and every job that occurred between Stanford and here. Dean wanted to say something comforting, maybe even sappy but he kept his mouth in a straight line, his eyes on Sam’s face.

Sam shrugged and sipped at the coffee Dean had bought him. He tapped at his phone for a moment and then he paused, eyes wide. Dean actually saw the color leech from his face and he bent forward.

“Sam?” He put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “You ok?”

It turned out that Sam wasn’t ok. A chick from Stanford had a murderer for a brother and Sam – Sam thought it was their sort of thing. Dean didn’t want to go, didn’t want Sam to go back to those people. Sam was his now, back to being his little brother and Dean knew that he shouldn’t want that, shouldn’t feel the odd thrill of pleasure at having Sam by his side again.

They went of course, because Dean could never say no to Sam. His friend Rebecca was hot and in the dark. Sam never told them about his life as a hunter and, as far as they were concerned, he was just some ordinary Joe with a cop for a brother.

Shape shifter; they hadn’t ever come across one before and Dean was, stupidly, excited to be working this case. He would have been ecstatic if not for the fact that these people had known Sam at his happiest, they had known Sam the student, Sam the boyfriend, Sam the ‘normal’ person and not the Sam that Dean had always loved and wanted.

Possibly this is why Dean wasn’t on the top of his game and possibly why he had ended up captured under a thick, greasy tarp; listening to the shifter relay his deepest and most intimate thoughts to his shocked and shackled brother.

 

***

“He wants you, you know.” The shifter moved slowly around Sam, green eyes alight with mischief and something that Sam just didn’t want to acknowledge, something he had never seen in his brother’s eyes before. “He’s always wanted you.”

“You’re just fucking with me,” Sam tried to keep the anger in his voice, channel it into something useful. He pulled at the rope binding him, wrists chafing as he fought to be free. His head hurt, a deep throbbing that went right though to his bones and he felt as if he couldn’t handle this now, couldn’t handle that look in those familiar eyes.

“Oh no, I’m not.” The shifter smiled his brother’s smile, from his brother’s lips, eyes almost black with lust. Fingers reached down and Sam flinched fearing a punch or a slap but instead a broad hand rested on his fly, rubbing gently, experimentally.

“Don’t . . . ,” he hadn’t wanted to sound so vulnerable but he couldn’t keep the panic out of his voice. His cock was hardening under the pressure and he couldn’t stop it, his traitorous body warring with his confused mind. “Please don’t.”

“You want it too, Sammy,” the voice was low and smooth, the hand insistent. “You know you do.”

“I don’t.” He cringed away and recoiled at the harsh slap of the shifter’s open palm around his face.

“You’re a liar!” The statement sounded cold in his brother’s tone. Dean never spoke to him like that, would never touch him like that either. Sam let his head fall forward, the sharp salt taste of blood in his mouth.

“No.” He tried to withdraw but he was trapped. Despite the slap the shifters palm was still hard against his groin, fingers brought into play now, curling around his ever-growing erection, an erection he was trying to will away, to hide.

“Your body is making a liar of you, Sammy.” The shifter laughed then, Dean’s laugh. Sam tried to remember the last time he had heard his brother laugh like that but he couldn’t and that fact made him shudder even as he began to lose control, his mind having a hard job trying to override the sensations in his body.

Surely he didn’t want this – couldn’t want this. He had loved Jess, he had wanted normal so much and yet, yet here he was reacting to the touch of something that looked, smelt, felt like his brother and it was all kinds of wrong.

“Yeah Sammy,” the creature purred and he recoiled, heart in his mouth, wanting and not wanting, pain and pleasure in equal measures.

Almost as soon as the creature had started, it pulled away; jade green eyes stared at Sam and it shrugged its shoulders.

“He sure does have issues with you,” it said.

Sam shook his head vigorously. His cock ached and he willed his erection away, looking defiantly into – and god they were so like Dean’s – the thing’s eyes, trying to show that he wasn’t scared or uneasy about what had just happened.

“Dean would like to tap your ass but me - .” The shifter laughed again. “I’d like to tap little Becky’s.” He nodded and picked up the tarp, tossing it over Sam’s head and leaving him blind and deaf for a moment.

When he managed to, finally, free himself the shifter was gone and only the goo of his shed skin was left behind.

Sam wet his mouth and began to fumble with his bonds again, as he did so he heard a grunt and he felt both faint and relieved as he realized it was his brother.

“Dean!” He was panicked, afraid that his brother had heard what had taken place, ashamed of his own body’s reaction to his brother’s hand.

“That better be you Sam and not that freak of nature!” Dean sounded angry and pissed and Sam’s stomach turned at the thought of what his brother might have seen or heard.

***

They finally got free and out of the stinking sewer. Sam’s eyes were watering, breath drawn hot into his lungs. He felt relieved to see daylight again and was happy to look at anything that wasn’t his brother.

“Sammy?” Dean’s hand lightly brushed his shoulder. “You’re pretty quiet – did that fucker hurt you?”

“No.” He shook his head, frantically relieved that Dean hadn’t seen or heard anything untoward. “He seemed to be channeling your inner thoughts though.” His cheeks flushed red and he hoped Dean wouldn’t notice. “He knew – he seemed to know a lot.”

“Fucking freak!” Dean rubbed his face, he looked at Sam with an expression that Sam was unable or unwilling to read. “I can’t wait to blast it full of fucking silver.”

“He said he was going to Rebecca’s.” Sam swallowed, “To – he wanted to - .” He swallowed hard. “Tap her ass.”

“Ok.” Dean nodded. He looked a little pale, spooked. He put his hand to his neck and baulked as he realized his amulet was gone. “Fucking thief.”

Sam sighed; his brother could cuss up a storm if he was really angry, and boy was he angry.

“We’ll get it back,” Sam said, softly.

Dean didn’t answer; he followed Sam along the road moaning up a storm. Sam couldn’t help but smile wryly as he heard Dean talking about getting his baby back and having a hot shower and a beer. They were on top of the store before they saw it and Sam felt his stomach clench as they watched the news report.

“Shit.” Dean shook his head. “It isn’t even a good likeness”

Sam shook his head. “It’s good enough, Dean.” Sam’s statement was drowned out by the sudden blare of sirens. He knew they were after his brother and he just wanted to be the protector for once. He managed to persuade Dean to lie low and not go alone into the sewers. He wanted to check up on Rebecca and, at the time, it felt like a good idea.

 

***

Sam wondered how he had ended up here again, back as the shape-shifters prisoner. He was tied up, bent over the pool table, head hurting from the bang he had taken, stomach churning sickly as he felt the facsimile of his brother fumble with his belt, heard the clang of it as it hit the floor. Another moment and his jeans were round his ankles and all that separated him from the thing pretending to be his brother were his boxers.

“Don’t.” He knew the shape shifter could channel Dean’s thoughts but he was certain that his brother wasn’t thinking about this. He swallowed hard and struggled, fitfully, against the ropes that bound him. Unlike the odd moments in the sewer, he wasn’t aroused. He tried to make sense of why that was and the only thing his foolish mind could come up with was that his body knew this thing wasn’t his brother. He was afraid, scared but partially he was ashamed. He felt so vulnerable and exposed and he couldn’t hold back a groan of fear as the shifter tugged down his boxers.

“So pretty,” the shifter purred. “Gonna’ give you what big brother has wanted to give you for a good, long time.”

“No!” Sam wriggled frantically as he felt broad fingers at his ass, stroking down the skin there. “Fuck! Please – no, don’t.”

He was begging now; hated the helplessness in his voice. He didn’t want this, he had never wanted this and yet Dean - the shifter was saying Dean wanted this and he didn’t know what to do with that knowledge.

Suddenly there was a crash and the splinter of wood and timber. Sam heard the shifter mutter something and then felt the fingers that had been so close to entering him move away. There was a shot and then another and a body flew across the room. Sam could smell gun smoke and he tried to move his head, muscles stiff from being tied down. He could hear harsh breathing, a huffing of noise, and then he felt the ropes loosen and his brother’s voice, soft and gentle. “Sammy. Shit - did he . . . ?”

Sam was beyond speech; he shook his head and as soon as he was free, he pulled up his pants and boxers not wanting Dean to see how exposed he was.

 

***

After the shifter, it all went to shit. Dean felt his brother physically pull away from him and he couldn’t help but wonder what the freak had said to Sam, what he had led Sam to believe.

Seeing Sam bent over that table, seeing himself touching his brother’s bare back, his exposed ass had made him feel physically sick. He loved Sam and it was true to say he wanted Sam but not like that. He wanted - if it ever came to that - it to be with Sam’s consent.

He more or less pushed Sam onto the Preacher’s daughter during their furor with the Hook Man but his brother seemed unable to connect. He knew it had been less than six months since Jess but he also couldn’t understand how Sam could go so long without sex. Sam, it seemed, wanted to be celibate and Dean knew better than to try to force his brother into something he didn’t want.

Days turned to weeks and weeks to months and still Sam shied away from physical contact both with Dean and with other women. Sam still slept badly, still awoke from nightmares screaming at nothing. They worked a few jobs, a fucking hideous incident involving bugs – more specifically – bees that left them sore and stung and then the cluster fuck that involved them going home to Lawrence and visiting their old house. For Dean this was the worst thing that had happened for a while. He could still remember carrying his baby brother out of the fire; still remember protecting his baby brother, being almost a father to him when his own dad consumed with grief, and obsessed with hunting.

He was also almost certain that Missouri knew something was up; that she could read his mind. She was brusque with him to the extreme and after the case was sewn up and after mom had gone, he saw her sitting on the steps with Sam and he wondered what in Hell the two of them might be talking about, panicking at the fact that they might be talking about Dean and his unnatural feelings.

 

***

It was no wonder things were fucked up, to the extreme, by the time they reached Roosevelt. The asylum wasn’t the best place to be in their fragile mental states. Dean was still watching Sam, still trying to protect him while trying to wipe the image of him bent over the pool table out of his mind. He still wanted Sam, still wanted him in a way that no brother should but he didn’t ever want Sam to find out and it made him secretive and less forthcoming.

Sam, for his part, was silent and closed up; he didn’t talk about Lawrence, didn’t talk about the fact his mom had said sorry to him, and didn’t talk about the episode that had caused them to rush home in the first place. Sam, it appeared, wanted to forget his dreams and precognitions, wanted to act as if he was still normal, as if he wasn’t some supernaturally charged hunter.

He was reluctant to talk to Dean about it too. Dean asked, on several occasions, asked what the shifter had said to Sam, but Sam refused to go there. The two of them were hiding secrets again and it was both upsetting and unwelcome and then Dr Ellicott came along and the whole thing imploded.

***

 

Dean knew it, even as Sam towered over him, blood seeping slowly from his nose (and when did his baby brother get so big?). Dean knew that something was up. He could see the anger in Sam’s eyes; feel the pain in his chest from where Sam had shot him full of rock salt. He wondered, distantly, if Sam hated him and he couldn’t stop shaking even while he was trying to maintain some sanity.

“I am me,” Sam was saying, slurred. “I’m just being honest for once. Shit Dean! You – was the shifter telling the truth? Does dad’s little soldier really have the hots for his baby bro?”

“Sam,” Dean knew he sounded weak but he couldn’t keep the fear and worry from his voice. “You know it was a lie.”

“I don’t know!” Sam said, starkly. “He touched me, tried to kiss me, he – in the sewer - .” Something other than anger flashed across Sam’s features. “In the sewer he touched me, Dean and you know the fuck what? I liked it! I liked it and I wanted it, Dean.”

“No!” The words that were coming from Sam’s mouth had to be lies, lies fuelled by anger and by whatever Ellicott had done to him. “You don’t want any of this Sam.”

“Always tellin’ me.” Sam’s eyes fluttered closed for a moment. “Always bossing me around, dragging my ass after you and then – then you tell me how I feel or should feel but you’re wrong, Dean. I wanted it even though I didn’t know I did.”

“Sammy.” Dean’s throat hurt. “Listen to me.”

“No.” Sam was staring at the gun that Dean held. “I-I’m sick and tired of this. Tired of following you and tired of being a good little soldier.” He bit his lip. “Sick that you made me feel like this – made me. . . . want you.”

 

The gun was heavy in Dean’s hand; he lifted it, the pain in his chest making him sick and he held it out to Sam.

“Take it,” he tried to keep his voice even but it was rough, the statement coming out as an almost wordless croak.

Sam stared at him as if he had lost his mind and then bent over, blood dripping onto Dean’s hand as he took the gun and, without pause, aimed it at Dean’s head.

“Do you hate me that much?” Dean’s arms were shaking with the effort of holding himself up. Sam’s hands were trembling and his eyes were fluttering open and closed, face white.

“No – I love you!” Sam barked out, angrily. “And while you are here – while you and dad carry out your crusade of revenge I’ll never be free of you because it’s you, Dean. It’s always been you. You make me do things, think things that I shouldn’t, that I don’t want to. I’ll never be normal while you are around.”

“Then do it!” Dean’s voice was stark.

Sam stood for a long time; gun shaking in his hand then Dean heard a click and he realized that Sam had actually pulled the trigger.

“Do you think I would give you a loaded gun?” Dean rolled over, grabbed the gun from Sam’s hands and cold clocked him with it. “Sorry, Sammy,” he said with genuine regret.

***

 

After Ellicott was toasted, they packed up and made good their escape. Sam was pensive, his eyes watching Dean at every turn. Dean was stiff and sore and the bruises from the rock salt were already making themselves known. He felt an odd and irrational anger at Sam – anger that his brother had threatened to kill him, even though he wasn’t really in his right mind.

“Do we need to talk about this?” Sam sounded scared and Dean tried to hold on to his anger, hating the lost look in his brother’s slanting eyes.

“No.” Dean climbed into the car. “I’m not really in a caring, sharing mood right now.”

Sam’s Adam’s apple moved up and down and his eyes were shadowed, hidden beneath shaggy bangs as he took up his position in the passenger seat.

“I said some pretty awful things back there,” Sam’s voice was pitched low. “Dean. I – it wasn’t me.”

“Like I said. . . .”

Dean let his silence speak for him. He had been telling the truth when he said that he hadn’t felt like talking. His heart felt heavy and his throat hurt as much as his chest did. Listening to Sam back in the Asylum had been painful partially because Sam had said, he was telling the truth and partially because Dean knew he couldn’t be. Sam had confessed that he had feelings for him, physical feelings, feelings that Dean could reciprocate if he thought Sam really, truly meant what he said.

But, he was certain that Sam hadn’t meant it; certain that he was the only one of them with sick desires – desires that Sam now knew about thanks to that shape-shifting fuck. He didn’t want to have to handle that now, he wanted to go back to their shitty motel and sleep it off, forget what Sam had said, forget how his baby brother had looked bent over the pool table at Becky’s; bare and exposed, ready for Dean to touch. Forget about everything.

***

He woke with a start. Sam was talking to someone, voice hushed and angry at the same time. He rolled over to hear Sam say, dad in a tone that took Dean’s breath away, for reasons he couldn’t explain. It took him a while to wrestle the cell – his cell – from Sam’s grasp and listen carefully to what his dad had to say.

He could virtually feel Sam fuming; feel the anger rolling off him in waves. He understood Sam’s frustrations knew why Sam wanted and needed to be part of their dad’s campaign against the demon but he also understood that his dad was trying to protect Sam, trying to keep him safe and secure. Sam was his baby brother and his dad’s youngest son and there was something about Sam, that screamed protect me, something only the elder Winchesters understood.

****

They were driving in the dark and, although he couldn’t see Sam’s face, he could imagine the bitchy expression, the hardness in his eyes. He didn’t want it to be like this, wanted them to be friends, brothers again but what with that fucking shifter and the psycho doctor from Roosevelt, they hadn’t had much of a chance.

“Sammy.” He couldn’t help the word; it just slipped out of him, all the pain and anguish and want. “Sammy – please.”

“Stop the car,” Sam sounded angry. “Now, Dean!”

The impala slowed and Dean pulled her to the side. He watched as Sam got out and opened the trunk, fumbling around trying to find his pack.

“Sam, don’t.”

“I’m not going to follow dad’s orders anymore. I’m gonna’ find him. If he’s going after this demon, I want in.”

“Sammy.” Dean grabbed his brother’s arms. He could feel Sam’s struggles, hear his harsh breathing and he bit back his own frustration. He slammed his brother back, hard against the car, holding him there, his body blanketing Sam’s body.

“Dean, let me go,” Sam sounded dangerous. “I – let me go, now.”

“Sam, please. Dad knows what he’s doin’ and if he doesn’t want us there then . . . .”

Sam was struggling and his movements were upsetting Dean in a number of ways. He could feel Sam’s body warm and strong against his and it was making him hard – hard in a way that shamed him. He couldn’t get the image of Sam bent over the pool table out of his head, or block out the words he had heard come from Sam’s own mouth, words that confirmed, sick or otherwise, that Sam had wanted him.

He had to stop but he couldn’t; panic, pain, need all built up inside of him and he pushed forward, his mouth connecting with Sam’s before he could even think about changing his mind. Sam went rigid for a moment but then, then his arms came up and instead of pushing Dean away like he should, like he could, he pulled him closer and opened his mouth for the kiss.

It was fast; hot and over before Dean could even process it. Sam slammed him away second attempt and he reeled against the car, breath hitching. Sam hauled his pack onto his shoulders. His eyes were wild and his mouth was tight, a thin line in his pale face.

“I’m going to California, to look for dad,” he hissed.

“Sam, listen . . . .” His desperate appeal ignored and Dean couldn’t offer anything else. “If you walk off now, I will leave your sorry ass!” It was a feeble threat and only half meant, but Sam turned and Dean saw everything on that familiar face, love, desire, frustration, and pain.

“That’s what I want you to do,” he said, starkly and kept right on walking.

***

 

He had let his brother kiss him and that alone made him want to run away and never look back. They were fucked up in every which way, and it was a mess of their own making. Sam sighed and stood still at the side of the road watching the truck take the blonde girl away and wishing he could have gone too. Something about her had hit a nerve in Sam that he didn’t want hitting, and now he was alone again and his thoughts were all over the place.

He had wanted Dean to kiss him; just as if he had wanted that shifter – in Dean’s form – to touch him down in that fucking sewer. He knew now why Dean’s eyes had bled, why Dean had been so secretive, so closed off at times. Dean had always wanted him. The shifter had been telling the truth right there but now he realized that he, too, had probably always wanted Dean.

Maybe Jess had died because of his unnatural desires; maybe the demon had always planned for this, another ‘fuck you’ in their already fucked up world. Sam had always been the centre of his brother’s world. Dean had sacrificed everything so that Sam could have a half-decent life but he hadn’t ever seen it until now. Dean loved him, loved him in every single way one person could love another and Sam – Sam had thrown that love back into Dean’s face.

Now, there was a chance to change all that and Sam had to decide whether he wanted things to change or whether he was just going to catch that bus to California and seek out his dad.

***

 

In the end the decision was taken from him; he received a call from Dean about the freaky assed scarecrow and it scared him, - scared him to think his brother was dealing with it all on his own. He knew that Dean had dealt with monsters without backup before, knew that Dean was more than capable of doing so now but there was just something off about it all and Sam couldn’t stop worrying.

He didn’t even think as he picked up his bag from the bus station floor and left Meg shouting his name. Dean wasn’t answering his phone and he knew that it wasn’t anything to do with Dean sulking or the fact that they weren’t talking to each other, he knew his brother was in danger and he needed to get to him as soon as possible.

***

The silence after they put Emily on the bus was telling.

They walked back to the Impala briskly and without words, Dean slightly ahead, Sam lagging behind, not ready to talk about it.

It was awkward; he had saved Dean and saved the day and his brother had been, genuinely, happy to see him. Afterwards, there was a gaping hole between them that hadn’t been there before and neither of them could fill it, either with words or actions. Their bond, their fierce loyalty to each other, their determination to find their father and the demon that killed their mom was still there, still burning as bright as before but now there was something else; something dark bubbling under the surface, something that was threatening the relationship they had built up since Sam’s return from Stanford.

If Sam didn’t know any better (and maybe he didn’t) he would have said it was sexual tension. Thick and cloying, making his nipples tingle, his cock half-hard. He hadn’t felt like this since Jess and maybe not even then. It was as if his brother was some kind of mysterious, sexual being, almost like Dean was an incubus leading him on into temptation.

He knew that Dean felt the same way because the shape-shifter had told him so, but neither of them seemed to want to go there and so they had reached an impasse - one they would possibly never surmount.

***

They didn’t look for a case; they ignored their cells. They mooched from town to town, tired, bruised, and stunned. They didn’t talk much, neither of them slept and there was nothing but the long road ahead of them and heartbreak behind.

It wouldn’t be long until one of them cracked but it was hard to know whom and when.

Dean is drunk, beyond buzzed and wasted. Sam can smell him; smell the whiskey and tequila shots from across the room. He is swaying back and forth, the grin on his face almost manic, his eyes red-rimmed.

“Sammy.” Dean staggers forward and back. “’I’m drunk.”

“Yeah.” Sam realizes that they are actually talking, talking about something that isn’t food or what to watch on TV. “I noticed.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again and Sam can’t help himself, he lunges forward and almost knocks Dean to the floor. Despite the smell, despite the fact that his brother is almost insensate, Sam takes Dean’s shoulders in his big hands and kisses him, hard.

Their tongues tangle and Sam feels almost drunk by association. He can taste the whiskey on his brother’s breath; hear the harshness of his breathing. It doesn’t matter, he doesn’t care, he wants this and he wants it now.

Dean dips his head and bites down hard, on Sam’s throat. He seems to be sobering a little, teeth gnawing at tender flesh. It is one of Sam’s weak spots, it makes him harder faster and he feels his jeans grow tighter, his zip digging painfully into his crotch. He rubs against Dean shamelessly because his brother is drunk and might not remember this in the morning.

“I will.” It is as if Dean is reading his mind. “I will ‘member, Sammy.”

That nickname and the use of it right now is what spurs Sam on. He pushes Dean back and they both fall onto the bed. It is graceless, messy, and wonderful. It is shameful, dirty, and wrong.

He used to have this with Jess and he thought he would never have it with another person but he should have known better, should have known it would be Dean because he had loved Dean his whole life and he would never, ever stop loving him.

The touch of Dean’s warm, sweaty hand inside his pants made him jump and he pushed into it shamelessly. Dean laughed and rubbed against his boxers. They were already damp, his cock leaking now, his balls drawing up as if he was going to come right away, come just from his brother’s teasing fingers.

“Shit Sammy,” Dean laughed softly and pulled, hard, at Sam’s jeans. They slithered down his legs and pooled at his feet. He kicked them off and his fingers joined Deans in trying to remove his boxers, getting them only as far as his knees before Dean pitched forward and enveloped his cock, mouth closing around the head, tongue licking eagerly. Sam groaned then and bucked his hips, knowing that this wouldn’t last very long.

“Not gonna’ fuck you, little bro.” Dean pulled off; his words were slurred but he seemed sober now, sober and determined. “Not gonna’ fuck you, yet. I’ve waited so long for it. Want to be in my right fucking mind when we do it and we are gonna’ do it, Sammy. We are.”

“Dean.” It was a word he had used all his life, a word that meant everything; caregiver, protector, friend and now lover. Dean was, and always would be, the center of his world and he wasn’t ever going to leave him again. He imagined what it would be like to have this, Dean’s hand and mouth on his cock, Dean’s smile, Dean’s love, forever. It might be wrong in some eyes but it wasn’t wrong right here and now. He loved his brother, he wanted his brother, and if the feeling was mutual then . . . .

All thoughts flew from his mind when that sinful mouth returned and it only took a few minutes, a few lust-filled minutes before he was coming, fast and hot and with no time to warn his brother. Dean just took it, swallowed it down, making noises that turned Sam on even more. Afterwards, he lay stunned in his brother’s arms, head turned into Dean’s shoulder, hands smoothing up and down Dean’s side, feeling his brother hard against him and wanting only to return the favor.

 

***

He woke up with a headache; Sam was fast asleep beside him, a calm, untroubled sleep. He had a small smile on his face and he was naked, his body covered in a light sheen of sweat, come on his stomach and chest.

It hadn’t been a dream then - he had really put his mouth on his brother. He had made his brother come.

He had been drunk but Sam had been sober and they had done it anyway. Dean never thought it would happen even after all these years of wanting and now all he felt was guilt. He was Sam’s protector; he had carried him from the fire not once but twice. He was his big brother, the one person in the world that knew everything about the kid. They may not always get on, fight, bitch at each other but they did love each other and Dean was afraid. He was afraid he would lose that brotherly bond, afraid he would lose Sam.

“I can hear you thinkin’.” Sam’s eyes were open and he was smiling; a real, full on dimpled little brother smile. “And, I wanted it, Dean – you never forced me. You never hurt me.” Sam quirked his eyes down towards Dean’s morning wood. “And, you never let me return the favor.”

“Sammy, what we did last night . . . .”

“Was something that we both wanted, right?” Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean could feel how warm and strong that hand was, how big and supportive. Sam might be his little brother but he had grown in every way possible and Dean felt his heart contract, his body lean into Sam’s hand, his head turning almost against his will to rest against Sam’s shoulder.

“You’re messy,” Dean couldn’t keep the smile out of his voice and Sam grinned wider. “You should - we should – um – shower.”

“Together?”

“Sam, you are my brother. We’re brothers.”

“And we’ll always be brothers, but now,” Sam swallowed; Dean saw his throat move, his lips curve, saw his cock begin to harden on the dip of his belly. His own throat was tight, his heart thundering, excitement burning in his gut. “Now, we can be so much more.”

“You really want this?” Dean’s voice was shaky and he wasn’t sure what he would do if Sam said no right now. “You have to be sure because if things go wrong between us because of this, I’m not sure I can – fuck, Sam. I love you in all the ways possible and I want you.”

Sam got up then, all brown skin and long limbs, unashamed in his nakedness. Dean swallowed hard and got up himself, making his way slowly to the bathroom. The shower was small, cramped, and hardly big enough for the two of them but he turned on the water, hot and fast, and stepped into the bathtub.

Sam was only seconds behind him; crowding him against the tiles, kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Dean went with it, hoping that neither of them would regret this. He wasn’t Jess and he could never hope to replace her but it appeared that this was what Sam wanted and Dean, Dean could never say no to Sam.

“I want you to . . . ,” Sam broke from the kiss to mumble the words and Dean almost came there and then. He didn’t know what to say and wasn’t even sure what to do but he nodded and reached for the shampoo figuring that it would pass for lube and at least help make this pleasurable for Sam.

“I’ve never done this with a man before,” Dean swallowed as he soaped up his fingers, watching breathlessly as Sam turned his face to the wall, pressed his palms there, head down. Sam’s back was long, elegant; a dip just above the spine, water trickling down from his wet hair and over his tanned skin.

“Me either.” Sam was shaking but not just with fear, his cock was hard and leaking. “But I trust you, Dean. I don’t want you to use anything - nothing between us. Please.”

And, there was nothing between them, just skin on skin, Dean easing in gently, the feelings and sensations like nothing he had ever felt before. This wasn’t some shape-shifter or someone controlling their feelings, this was them, pure them and it was like living and dying, the two of them crossing a line that they could never, ever come back from.

Being inside Sam was something he had longed for and never believed he could have. He had thought he was a terrible brother that he wasn’t Sam’s protector or adviser anymore but Sam wanted it too and they were no longer ‘big’ brother and ‘little’ brother, they were the Winchesters and at that moment in time, they were indestructible.

****

They hit the road early the next morning heading for a job that Sam had found them on the internet. The day was bright, the road was long and ACDC was playing loud and proud on the old tape deck.

Sam was riding shotgun, tapping long fingers on the dash. He looked healthy, eyes bright and there wasn’t a hint of a nightmare in those slanting hazel depths. He grinned at Dean as Dean revved the Impala’s motor and put her into gear. They didn’t mention the night before, didn’t have to. Dean felt pleasantly buzzed and sated and Sam, Sam was glowing.

Neither of them knew what lay ahead; neither of them had any concept of what their future might hold. Would they find dad? Would they ever kill the demon? There was no surety that they would even live to see another dawn.

All they did know was that they had each other, and that they were bonded in every single way possible. Brothers, companions, soldiers-in-arms and now lovers. The world might not be ready for the Winchesters but the Winchesters were ready for the world.

End


End file.
